Not Yours
by Gaslight
Summary: Bounty hunters Josh Randall & Jason Nichols arrive in Leadville, Colorado between jobs and Jason is hired by an actress who finds herself in an unexpected marital tangle.
1. Chapter 1

Wanted: Dead or Alive was a western that aired on CBS from 1958 to 1961. It starred Steve McQueen as Josh Randall, a bounty hunter roaming the West. For several episodes in Season 2, Josh was joined by Jason Nichols (actor Wright King), a Virginia City deputy who wants to pursue the more glamorous profession - or so he thinks. The role of Jason was written to take some weight off of McQueen's shoulders while he was on location filming The Magnificent Seven. When McQueen wanted to leave the show, the PTB decided to have the show continue by bringing Nichols back. That never materialized and the show was canceled.

W:DOA is the property of Four Star Productions. No copyright infringement intended.

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**Chapter 1**

_Late August, 1880_

_Southern Colorado_

"Two thousand dollars, you bastard moneygrubbers! Just try to get me!"

A bullet plowed into the rock face of a sheer cliff wall, sending a shower of chips and dust onto the two men crouching behind a boulder the size of a small mining shack.

"You know," said one, "I'm getting mighty sick of that mouth of his."

Josh Randall smiled grimly and looked over at his partner, a slender man of middling height and less than thirty years. "He's been chattier than some," he agreed, "but he's got a lot waiting for him back at Fort Collins, none of it good. It drives a man desperate, and you've been with me for eight months now, Jason. What do you think? Think our man Tillot out there is going to slip up eventually?"

_He already has,_ Jason Nichols thought, recalling the outlay of the narrow silver mine canyon where the three men now watched each other, and waited.

Tillot Burns had led them on a merry chase for most of the day, flogging his mount with little thought beyond finding a hole to hide himself. When the old silver mine appeared, with its main shaft entrance a natural spider-hole for fleeing outlaws, Jason suspected the man had wanted to throw himself upon the ground in abject gratitude to luck.

But whatever Fortune had seen fit to give Tillot Burns that day was quickly snatched away when his exhausted horse collapsed in the mouth of the canyon with the two bounty hunters mere yards behind. His horse dead, Burns had been forced to take the first shelter he could find. Several carelessly nailed boards barred the mineshaft entrance, easily torn down under other circumstances but solid as an iron door when seconds could mean his life or death. After a frantic tug on one board, Burns had dashed to the next refuge, a rockslide to the right of the entrance that Jason guessed was a controlled shaft detonation gone horribly wrong.

The entrance to the mine lay between the two camps' positions, and all the advantages were against Burns. Jason and Josh had a clear bead on the only way to get out. Burns had a dead-end canyon behind him, a dead horse, and a jury waiting for him at Fort Collins.

"Yeah, it's gonna make him desperate," Jason thought aloud, reflexively hunching further behind the boulder as another shot resounded through the narrow canyon. "Even if nothing else, he's gonna run out of bullets."

"And he knows it." Josh calmly tilted his hat back on his head and slouched against the cool rock, his sawed-off Winchester lying ready across his lap. "It costs me far more to arm this than that peashooter of his, so I'll bide my time 'til he gets tired. It might take all night, but some time alone with his Maker in the dark could get him to give up."

"You're too hopeful, Randall," Jason said. "After what he's done - or what they say he's done - he might just have a run at us so's we kill him and spare him the noose."

"Not up for us to decide if he deserves it or not, but if he comes at us, I won't be thinking twice." Josh looked up at the sky, a crystalline blue interrupted by only the wispiest of clouds and a sun that had barely crested the edge of the canyon. Heat began to hammer down on them, and as one, they both began to sweat a little heavier.

Jason went over to his horse and retrieved his canteen, taking a small swig with an eye to preserving it as long as he could. Josh seemed confident that the wait would be one night at most, but Jason wasn't so sure.

The water in his stomach churned sourly as he thought of the man they had hunted successfully, but had yet to catch. In his eight months riding by Josh's side and earning half of the bounties, he had encountered all manner of thieves, murderers, and wanted men of every imaginable stripe. There had even been several women of varying shades of innocence and guilt. Tillot Burns was a special case, and Jason found himself doubting whether he would give the man an honest chance to defend himself if the opportunity should arise.

"Let go of that canteen, Jason. Your fingers are going to punch through it, sure as you're standing there."

Jason flinched and looked over at Josh, who had assumed a bored pose against the boulder, arms and legs crossed as if ready for sleep. Despite looking relaxed, Randall's blue eyes were keenly watching him and a knowing, tolerant smile curved his mouth.

"Just go easy, Jason. I know he's a bad customer, and I once had a sister myself. Bet that's what you're thinking, too, innit?"

Jason turned and stuffed the canteen into his saddle bag, glad for the excuse to turn away. "Maybe," he said tightly. "You _had_ a sister, and I still got one. Imagine how I'd feel if this man did to her what he's done to another man's. Imagine what I'd do." He gave the dark chestnut a sharp stroke along its neck, and the gelding flicked its flaxen tail in irritated reply.

With a sigh, he returned to the boulder and quickly glanced around it, satisfied that Burns was still unable to aim true at either them or the horses. He remained on his feet, leaning against the rock to absorb the coolness that was quickly leeching away from it under the midday heat.

"Remember Clell Fannon?" he asked.

Josh nodded, his brow furrowed in remembered pain. "Killed a friend of mine."

"Yeah. And a half dozen others."

Jason paused, recalling the cold-blooded bank robber who had masked his true identity behind a smile, a false name, and confident Irish cheer. Fannon had fooled him, Randall, and the Sheriff of Virginia City into believing that he was actually Fannon's right-hand man, Doc Phillips. At the time, Jason had been serving as deputy sheriff when Randall arrived with the man calling himself Doc Phillips in tow for a reward for possessing stolen money. The idea was to use Phillips to bait Fannon into making an appearance in Virginia City, where Randall and the law would be waiting. Almost too late, they realized they had had the gang's leader in custody all along.

"What of him?" Josh prompted.

"I don't know if you ever heard about it from Sheriff Holmes before Fannon's gang killed him, but I earned myself a stripping-down for taking a punch at Fannon – or who I thought at the time was Phillips."

"No," Josh said. "Can't say as Holmes ever mentioned it directly, though I did overhear him telling you not to mistreat prisoners. Guess that was right after Fannon's face accidentally walked in front of your fist?"

Jason gave a lopsided grin and shrugged. "He was locked up in there, couldn't run or anything. I took a swing at him, just because I felt the star on my chest said I could."

"Didn't work, did it? He'd have told you he was really Fannon, otherwise."

"You're right, of course. I doubt I'd have listened to you anyway if you'd told me at the time, since even after Holmes warned me, I did it again."

At Josh's questioning look, Jason continued. "You were lying in a bed in your own sweat and blood," he said, referring to Randall's injuries from the same shootout that killed Holmes. "I was the new sheriff and I'd finally figured out that Phillips and Fannon were one and the same man. Had about enough of everyone running around like a whipped dog with their tail between their legs, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was going to get a confession out of him and I laid into him, just for the sheer hell of it to get him to say what I already knew."

"Every man's got something they're not proud of," Josh said, "but I have a feeling what you're getting at is that if you had Burns in a cell, they'd have to scrape him off the walls when you were done."

Jason nodded. "That's about it." He stared in the direction of where Burns waited, as if seeing the dark, wiry man through the rock. "Fannon was a thief, robbing banks and killing unlucky people who were in his way, but what drives a man to do such things to helpless women?"

Josh looked up to see Jason watching him expectantly. "You look at me like I have an answer for that. It might be as you say, just bad luck that put that woman in his path that day. I doubt he cared if the stagecoach carried a nun or the actual mail-order bride he…killed. He got her money and took more besides as added luck."

"Like an extra payday," Jason said bitterly.

"The West has all kinds, Jason, but don't think the East is much better. The bad blood's sometimes just under fancier clothes and talk, is all." With that, Josh rose to his feet, the Winchester hanging loosely from one hand.

Burns' voice carried across the short divide between the two positions. "I know that little sidekick of yours is itching to get his hands on me, Randall!" he shouted. "The poster says one thousand for dead, two for alive. Which'll it be?"

Josh smiled, a tight twist of his lips. He pointed behind them at the mouth of the canyon. "Distracting us," he whispered. "You want to shoot him? Get him in the leg or shoulder if he runs for it, and I think he's going to."

He turned his attention to Burns. "One thousand's still a powerful lot of money," he taunted back. "I won't sneeze at any amount!"

Jason slowly pulled his gun from the holster and took point at the edge of the boulder, his line of sight wide and clear. He licked his lips and forced himself to breathe easy as the back-and-forth behind him became a distant buzz.

Josh was right. He _did_ want to shoot him: between the eyes in the same manner Burns had executed the doomed Vera Coulson when he had finished with her.

Normally Jason paid little attention to the details of the crimes their marks had allegedly committed, but the murder of the mail-order bride Vera Coulson had shocked the town of Fort Collins and the surrounding territory so badly that every lurid fact and rumor swept from tongue to ear like a summer wildfire. No matter where he and Josh had gone on their hunt for Burns, every man, woman, and child seemed to know the details of the case, from what the woman had worn to the time of day the stagecoach was robbed and Coulson dragged away to her death.

Her body had only been discovered because her carpet satchel of meager possessions had been opened and discarded, the pieces of her life scattered about the countryside by crow and wind. Scavenging animals had left a portion of Vera herself in the path of a circuit rider, who went to the law ashen-faced and trembling with his discovery.

Jason focused all his sadness and anger on the canyon mouth before him, doubts about his career as a bounty hunter beginning to creep over him for the first time. If people like him and Josh didn't take the risks to reel in the vile outlaws like Burns, who else would bring them to justice? That thought alone kept him in the saddle day after day, sleeping on cold ground and eating out of cans for days on end. But he was getting tired.

A hail of gunfire snapped Jason out of his thoughts, and a sharp clap on his back from Josh set his senses tingling. Every inch of him was alert, ready to shoot. Ready to kill, if need be.

_Need._ Only if I _have_ to, he reminded himself.

The short, lean figure of Tillot Burns staggered into his sight. When the horse had collapsed, it had wrenched Burns' knee something fierce, and Jason wondered just what the murderer was thinking, trying to make a bolt for freedom at high noon in such a condition. Maybe it was as Josh had said, and Burns was forcing them to spare him the noose.

_Well, I won't oblige the bastard_, Jason thought. Sparing him death had seemed unfairly merciful only minutes ago. Now, seeing him try to hobble away prompted a greater ruthlessness.

How fitting it would be to have those legs kicking and twisting in a different dance.

Jason sighted down the barrel of his revolver and fired.

* * *

_Note: The reference to Clell Fannon is the plot of the episode "The Partners," the episode that introduced Nichols._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Leadville, Colorado_

_Three weeks later_

It was always difficult to come down off the tense horse of a bounty chase, but Josh was finding the Burns affair more troublesome than most.

Their entrance into the old military fort-turned-city of Fort Collins had been greeted by the townsfolk with the usual mixed stares and glares. Those who were disgusted at men who hunted other men for money looked askance with a disapproving eye, while those who accepted it as a fact of life in the frontier shrugged their shoulders and went about their business. However, the avid interest in the identity of the captive who rode behind the two bounty hunters on a rented mule was apparent on every face that turned their way. Tillot Burns could probably claim without exaggeration that he was the most notorious man in a crow's flight in all directions.

Josh took comfort in the fact that the estimation of both he and Jason had improved slightly upon their return with Burns in tow. Not that he would have been surprised if it wasn't the case. In his seven years in the profession, ingratitude was as common as rain on a wedding day. It didn't seem fair, but there was little he could do about it. He did his job as best he knew how, collected the money, and moved on. That was what he had been teaching Jason these past eight months.

For the most part, Nichols had learned. He was brasher than some, Josh allowed, but the confidence wasn't born of arrogance. Rather, the man had a zeal for both justice and the high pay of the profession. Most likely his young age was to thank for that. Despite Jason's missing out on the war because he was so young, Josh had to grant that he often acted like a veteran. Little shook him, and he was a crack shot even in the worst of situations, but ever since the Burns case Josh thought he detected a wavering of purpose. He couldn't have a tentative and uncommitted man at his back, but at the same time, he didn't want these doubts to get the better of him when there might not be anything to worry over.

Leadville might be the place to sweep away some of the heavy feelings left over from the Fort Collins mess. It was certainly jumping and full of opportunities of all sorts. With a freshly-laid track leading into the city, every day brought cars full of potential cash in his pocket. There were bound to be a few among them who would get into trouble, once unleashed in a town where spirits were high and liquor flowed like the proverbial river of milk and honey.

Josh sat at a table in the corner of the Hotel Windsor's dining room with a clear shot at the swinging doors that opened from the room onto the street outside. He wasn't expecting trouble, but it had caught him unawares in the past when he was sitting down to enjoy meals such as this. He found it never hurt to act like someone was always out to get you.

The matter of thwarting an ambush settled, Josh looked around the room. "Hotel" was stretching it a bit. It was more of a saloon, cleaner than most with better food. The sign's bold letters claiming it was "The Best in Leadville" was probably exaggerating it as well, but it had beds and pillows with only a couple roaches. Nothing worth complaining about. The fares were a bit steep, but that was the way of boom towns.

A waitress arrived with two plates and set one down in front of him. She looked at him in confusion and gestured to the empty chair across from him.

"You said you had a friend coming," she said, her tone slightly accusing that he might have put her through the trouble of fixing a plate that had no buyer. With her spare hand, she smoothed back a loose lock of hair that had escaped the long, thick braid that lay coiled around the crown of her head. Two spots of color already marked her cheeks from the rush of the morning dining hour, and she looked to be in no mood for unneeded work.

Josh had already taken a bite of biscuit at the insistence of his growling stomach. He began to talk, but clamped his lips shut at the first sign of flying crumbs. He settled for a sheepish nod and pointed for the plate to be set down.

"Very well, then," the young woman said crisply, sliding the plate onto the table. She turned away with a quick hitch of her hips, causing her full skirt to swirl artfully. Josh craned his neck imperceptibly to watch her move on to another table, appreciating the curves that corset and bustle lent to her figure.

No cards tonight, he vowed. There were other plans begging to be made. Despite winning – and winning heavily – at the poker table last night, he had only managed to get three scant hours of sleep. Far too little when a new job was in the offing. He needed to get into some sort of rested condition before heading out on the trail again.

He stabbed at a piece of fried steak, dipped it in the pool of white gravy, and ate it with renewed gusto. The hotel served good food, no question, even with the roaches upstairs and an extra lump or three in the mattresses.

The hinges on the half-doors creaked loudly, piercing the hum of the diners' conversations, and Josh looked up. Jason's lanky figure appeared a few steps into the dining room. He paused, scanning the room with a quick, discerning eye and spotted Josh within a few seconds. With his usual loping stride, he was at the table and in the chair before Josh could get out a "Good morning."

"Help yourself," he said as Jason was already halfway to cutting through the steak. "Are matters all squared with the law?"

Jason belatedly realized he still wore his hat and tossed it onto the seat of the third chair at the table. "You weren't kidding when you said the sheriff here was tight with a dollar. The bounty left his hands more reluctant than I ever seen. My dad would say that there's more space between bark and a tree than Hatch and a greenback."

Josh's lips quirked into a fleeting, knowing smile. Over the course of their partnership, Josh had often been regaled with some pithy proverb allegedly said by the elder Nichols. He suspected that the man was overly fond of _The Farmer's Almanack_. "Your dad is always good for a smart saying. How can one man be so wise, I wonder?"

"I don't know," Jason said, nonplussed. "You have to admit it's better than your words of wisdom. What was that you once told me? 'Not only wasn't I in the room when the brains got handed out, I wasn't even in the house'? Pretty harsh, Josh." He grinned.

"And I meant every word, at the time," Josh replied. "Oh, don't be too hard on Hatch. I know him from the war. He just likes to make sure a job's done right, is all. Always been like that. Always will, I 'spect."

"And this was just a little ol' payroll escort job we did," Jason went on, slathering a biscuit with butter. "Hatch gave me a going-over about every detail. I'd hate to think what hoops I'd have had to jump through if we'd brought in a fugitive." Half the biscuit disappeared in one bite and he chewed and stared in silent contemplation until he swallowed. "You might have told me it'd be like getting cross-examined by my mother. Nice thing for you to leave me with that so you could start stuffing your face early."

Josh chuckled. "Well, you got to learn to deal with all types of lawmen when you're the one on the other side of the badge, and Hatch is one of a kind. I wouldn't want you to go your own way with your own business and be unprepared for the more colorful types."

Jason's jaw slowed and he looked down at his plate. "My own business…" He glanced up at Josh, his gaze faltering only briefly before taking on a determined, stubborn edge that Josh knew all too well. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking, and I guess you're right. My heart hasn't been in it lately, has it?" When Josh didn't speak, he went on. "The partnership we have going, I mean. I feel like I haven't been holding up my end of it, ever since Burns.

"And it's not over yet," he went on. "Hatch gave us a 'Well done' on catching Burns, then asked if we'd heard the latest about that."

"Oh? He hasn't swung yet, I'm guessing."

Jason nodded. "Seems the leg wound I gave him got infected and the miserable sonofabitch is delirious. Judge won't move until he gets well or dies, whichever comes first. Hatch said this judge is set on bringing civilized law to the West and won't budge."

"Well, that'll be mighty hard on the girl's family and her fiancé, won't it?" Josh said, feeling genuine pain for the misery he imagined they were suffering. "Satisfying as it might have been to kill him, Jason, I'm glad you didn't. He's suffering now more than he would have with a bullet in his skull."

"It took some doing not to."

Josh shook his head. "I understand. Sometimes a job gets right under your skin and won't leave you be. You were due for one, Jason. Nothing that'd been thrown at you stuck to you, and there's been plenty. Something was bound to come along, sooner or later."

"And here I've been wondering if I was gonna get kicked to the side if you thought it'd be best," Jason said, his face relaxing into a relieved smile. "Next job, Josh, there won't be any troubles at all."

"There weren't any for the last one. Simple payroll guard duty, remember?" Josh replied, glad that Jason was looking down at his plate so he couldn't see the transparent doubt that crossed his face. But he was relieved. Jason's declaration had gone a long way to putting his niggling fears to rest. All he needed to do was keep the man on track and they'd likely live longer.

The waitress reappeared, and Josh leaped at the distraction. The high color was beginning to fade from her cheeks, and her movements were losing their sharp and irritated efficiency. The image of renting a wagon and taking a moonlight ride was looking more and more appealing than sitting around a smoky table with a gang of potential cheats.

"Say, now that I don't have my mouth full, thanks for the breakfast." He smiled.

"Certainly," the girl replied. "You're paying for it, aren't you? Anything else I can get for you?"

"How about some of your time tonight?"

Jason rolled his eyes under the cover of finding something of sudden interest on the street outside through the large picture window. He glanced at Josh out of the corner of his eye, only to see his partner staring, dejected, at the back of the departing waitress.

"No, huh?"

"Guess not.

"I might be able to give you some advice in that area, Josh."

"Oh, can you now?" Josh retorted, eyebrows darting upward in plain doubt. "If I remember right, your idea of thanking Billy Joe Henry's girl for warning you about getting ambushed was to lay one on her without so much as a flower first. Got a slap for that, I heard."

"My technique has improved some since then."

"Uh huh."

"Oh here, almost forgot" Jason furtively wiped his hands on his pants and reached into his vest pocket. When he retrieved a roll of bills, a folded piece of yellow paper fluttered onto the table.

"You dropped something there."

Jason looked down, saw the paper, and hastily fumbled at it. "Damn," he muttered, as he shoved it back into his interior pocket.

"Problem?"

"What?" he asked, visibly distracted. "Oh no. It's…nothing. Here. Here's your half," he said, handing the wad of money into Josh's outstretched hand. "Only fifty, but some safe, easy money was a nice change of pace. Looks like, uh, you might be needing it tonight since asking nicely didn't do the trick."

"The day I have to pay for a friendly evening, Jason, is the day I know it's time to hang it all up." He slipped the wad of money into his shirt pocket and pulled at the halves of his jacket in what Jason thought was mildly wounded pride.

"Well, I'm not so proud," Jason admitted, taking the last biscuit to sop up the last remains of the gravy. "I'll gladly pay for it if the price is right and it's worth the trouble."

"Does your dad have something to say about that as well?"

"He might, if I dared tell him!" Jason popped the last bit of biscuit into his mouth and rose, fishing a dollar coin from his pocket and dropping it on the table.

"Where you headed now?"

Jason shoved his hands in his pockets and surveyed the bustling activity on Chestnut Street. "Just going to look around. We're still waiting to hear if we're needed for that job, right?"

"That's right."

"All right, then. I haven't been in Leadville since I was a little boy when my dad brought me along with him on a trip. That was when it was just a tiny place called Oro City. Back then it was gold, now it's silver that has everyone jumping."

"Take a look in on the horses while you're at it," Josh said. "It was late when we got in last night, but I wasn't so tired that I didn't notice the squirrely look on the groom's face. Make sure they look taken care of."

Jason nodded. "Sure. My dad used to say—"

"I'm sure he did." He smiled. and tilted his head towards the door. "Go on now."

Jason retrieved his hat and turned to leave, nearly colliding with their waitress who was laden down with a large coffeepot and a tray of dessert pastries. To Josh's irritation, he saw the woman's face collapse into an embarrassed, giddy smile as she gave a dainty side-step and laughingly brushed off Jason's profuse apology before he could even start.

Undaunted, he had a ready smile for her when she returned to his table and dipped the platter low for his inspection. An invitation was on his lips when he happened to glance up over the apple turnover and saw that she had challenge in her eyes, as if daring him to try mashing again.

Curiosity swamped all intentions. "Say, what did my partner say or look at you like when you were here earlier?" When she didn't immediately reply, he answered for her. "I'll tell you. Nothing that I could see. Women!" He stood and tossed some coins onto the table. "I swear, I'll never understand you."

"Well," the waitress replied softly, "at least you're keeping your voice down."

"Darn right," he said. "I don't intend to embarrass you, miss. Just itching with curiosity about what you all like and don't like. Some days it's like being drunk in a shooting gallery. Pure luck."

She smiled tolerantly, all former challenging airs dampened by his honest, straightforward plea. "That partner of yours is a right tender fellow. Don't even know his name, but he's got far more soft edges than sharp and a girl can see it. You've got nothing of the kind, but some girls like that. I'm not one of them." She gestured to the tray with a tilt of her head. "So I guess you won't be having anything sweet for dessert?"

"I think I will," Josh said, resentment fading at the smell of the hot turnovers. He picked one up and danced it back and forth from hand to hand a couple times until it cooled tolerably.

"Take a napkin," she whispered. "No one will notice it missing. With all the money that's flowed into this town the last couple years, the manager practically throws things away."

Josh obliged and wrapped the pastry in the white linen. He slipped it into his jacket pocket and picked up his hat, bowing in farewell with a curt, shy nod of his head.

As he turned to leave, she murmured, "Come back in spring, Mr. Randall. I just might have changed my mind."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Jason had barely gone a hundred yards down Chestnut Street before he decided that he might as well have been on another planet. Leadville wasn't just different from the old Oro City he remembered as a ten year old boy, it was like comparing a peashooter to a shotgun.

The surrounding hills had always been peppered with shacks and staging around the mine shafts, with wide swaths cut through the trees in the endless need for wood. But now the hills on all sides were nothing but stumps and shacks, flimsy new growth of pine doomed to harvest in several years' time, and the hulking, clanking equipment that drummed the earth's wealth out of the ground into the waiting hands of millionaires and weary miners.

Two banks were within a stone's throw of where he stood, standing opposite each other on either side of Harrison Avenue so that a gifted spitter could hit one from the other. There were not only stores with the mining equipment and dry goods necessary and expected in such a boom town, but also French fashion temples, New York pastry bakers and diamond brokers. The entire outdoors was a din of music from the many saloons that dotted both sides of the street, and busy hammers, saws, and barking foremen indicated that many more buildings were on the way.

He'd been in many boom towns over the last several years, but he had never felt such excitement in the air. He got the sense from the people he passed on the street that this was a city that would never fade. He hoped that was the case. Far too many skeletons already dotted the West, the land ravaged and then abandoned, the vacant and hastily built structures silent reminders of the fickle nature of Man and his unceasing search for wealth.

He was jarred out of his thoughts by the rough shouldering of a careless passerby. He stared after the man in annoyance, but soon thought better of pursuing the matter. He had matters to attend to with little time to stand around and gawk slack-jawed like a tenderfoot tourist and take offense like a green outlaw itching for trouble.

His hand strayed to his vest pocket, and a brush of his fingers made the folded telegram crinkle in persistent reminder, but he shook his head.

_Later_, he thought, as Josh's request to look in on the horses again moved to the top of his mental list for the day.

The hotel's livery stable was down the street, and Jason found it more difficult to get there unimpeded than he would have guessed. The foot and horse traffic was thick, and the recent spate of early fall rains had peppered the dirt strip with muddy bogs, depending on the slope and level nature of the ground. Combined with the horse and other livestock manure, as well as the various mining operation palls that encircled the area, the city had a distinct aroma lacking in other, smaller boom towns. He had no idea just how many people had swarmed to this mountaintop mother lode, but from what he had already seen and smelled, he guessed it was well over fifteen thousand, if not pushing twenty.

He arrived at the stable and was greeted by the man Josh had described as squirrely. In the light of day the fellow looked like any stable groom Jason had dealt with over the years to no complaint. There was the weary air of a man forced to look at the butt-end of horses all day, when he wasn't being harassed by teeth and hooves from some of the more ornery customers.

"How do?" he said, tossing a crust of bread out into the street and smoothing his shaggy moustache free of crumbs. "Randall, was it?"

"Nichols," Jason corrected, "but Randall's who paid you last night. Just checking our horses. We'll be needing them fit as a fiddle for tomorrow or the day after."

"Well, it's got to be one or t'other," was the peeved reply. "I ain't running a hotel for critters to stay indefinitely."

"One day won't put you out, I imagine," Jason said, incredulous.

"Stables can only be built so quickly, and there's some already rumbling about the smell from so many. We're gettin' quality folks here now, even if they're the only ones who think so. I like to keep the horses coming in and out, if I can."

Jason shrugged, but he understood the man's point. "Well, I'll see what I can do, but Randall and I just came off a job and we're waiting for a wire about the next one. Count on two days, and sorry."

"Have it your way," he replied, shrugging as well. "Like I said, in-and-out would be great, but the money's the same in the end."

Jason laughed. "The same could be said for bounty hunting. Easy or dangerous, it's always the same reward. Capture a man in his sleep for five hundred, or take a bullet for five hundred."

The groom's face had become thoughtful, and he tapped his moustache in valiant recollection. Then, his eyes brightened. "Oh yes, the Billy Joe Henry gang. He got all of them, didn't he? I heard about that. A night-time shootout, I think it was."

"Not all of them," Jason said. "I got Billy Joe, Randall the others."

The man's assessing look wasn't encouraging. "Billy Joe was a right powerful type. He was here about a year ago and busted the town up good. When a fella does that, you tend never to forget him. No offense, Nichols, but you look like a tin horn compared to Billy Joe. How'd you manage to get the drop on him?"

Jason felt his pride prickling all along him. "I didn't get the drop," he replied stiffly. "We drew at the same time. I just happened to be slightly faster." And it was talk like yours which made me faster, Jason wanted to add, but thought better of it. He hadn't come here to argue.

The man realized he had needlessly insulted his customer and backed away with a falsely cheerful wave. "See you and Randall tomorrow, then!" he said, darting back into the stables.

Jason shook his head and turned, his hand already at his vest pocket. He fished out the telegram and read it through one more time, although he already had it memorized. He knew where he had to go, and he began his journey with a heavy heart.

As he navigated around wagons, riders, drunks and a determined, if not gifted, temperance band, the man at the livery stable returned to his thoughts. He supposed he should be used to such initial doubts on the faces of those who heard that he killed Billy Joe Henry, or that he was a bounty hunter at all. Jason had no illusions that he didn't meet peoples' expectations of a successful gunman. He was slight, gawky even, and was not nearly as consistently cool-headed as Josh Randall. Sometimes that was to his advantage. He'd been underestimated more than once.

His baptism into the profession, now that he thought about it, seemed to be a matter of dumb luck. Billy Joe Henry was a fast draw, one of the fastest, yet he hadn't been fast enough.

And all because Henry had taunted him from the darkness that he was young and stupid. Ever since, when he heard someone sneer "Peach Fuzz," he felt his fingers itch all over again. He knew he shouldn't have risen to Henry's bait, and maybe if he hadn't, Henry and his brothers would have been taken alive. Randall seemed to think so, even refusing all of the bounty money and letting him collect it instead so that he would always see the blood on it, blood that wouldn't have been there had Jason not solved the problem of being called a craven tinhorn with his gun.

_Well, no matter,_ he thought, shrugging off the memories, jaw set stubbornly. Whether killed on a street or at the end of a judge's noose, they were all dead and rotting in their graves.

He noticed a crude street sign that had been tacked onto the end of a building at the intersection. Pleasant Street. Jason smiled despite himself. It was a respectable sort of name, something found in every rural town with neat picket fences and a church, yet it was also slyly descriptive of the businesses that were relegated to this quarter of a rowdy town like Leadville.

Business was brisk, he soon realized, though he had been in enough boom towns to know that the saloons and the brothels were always jumping with activity and flush with flushed customers. Several saloons were lined up alongside the other, some with the air of a house of ill repute, and the names themselves had him curious about the wares within: The Ruby, Wild Rose's, The Fashion, and The Red Light.

A silvery flash flew in front of him, and he looked down to see a coin laying in the dusty street. He bent down to retrieve it, and heard silvery laughter above him. Looking up, he saw a plumpish young woman swathed in a filmy gown sitting on the windowsill in the uppermost floor of Wild Rose's, one leg drawn up in an affected pose of sensual languor. Even from his position on the street below he could see she was pretty, with soft brown curls framing a face tinged with a healthy pink pallor.

"That's good for one," she called down. "As long as you want."

He looked down and saw that it wasn't a coin but rather a token with "Wild Rose's" stamped on side and "Good For 1" on the other.

"Mighty obliged," he said, tipping his hat to her in greeting and gratitude.

"Oh, you can do better than that, sweetheart," she purred. "I don't want your obligation."

Jason felt his face flush hot, snaking down his neck well past his collar and beyond. He had tossed off the careless comment to Josh that he was not averse to paying for a night's affection, and that was the truth, but if a woman was too direct it caught him entirely off-guard. He thought with some embarrassment that he was more level-headed when he had a gunman opposite him with a bullet marked for his gut.

He swallowed. "It'll have to do for now, miss," he said, disliking how thick his voice sounded. "You're mighty inviting, but I'm looking for someone in particular. At The Paradise. Know where that is, exactly? The letter I have says it should be here."

The woman's sly, insinuating tilt of head and shoulders fell away into miffed disappointment. "It's called The Red Light now, fella. New management."

He looked over at the brothel he had already passed and noticed that the sign looked brand new, the paint fresh and yet unmarred by the elements and stray bullets.

"Thank—" he began, turning back to the other woman, but a slammed window interrupted him and he saw that she had vanished in what he presumed was a huff. He gave the token in his hand another long look and held it up with a smile in case she was still watching him. He had every intention of redeeming it, if only to tell her he was grateful for the information.

His eyes settled on The Red Light, absorbing every detail. He was heartened by the overall condition of it. It wasn't as grand as some of the parlor houses he had seen from afar due to his unwillingness to part with so much of his money in one fell swoop, but it looked as respectable as a brothel could. In fact, all of the brothels on the street were of uniform good health on the outside. He was relieved to find his destination here, rather than one of the cribs on the edge of town where opium dens and worn, diseased whores in rented cots rubbed shoulders.

But the real test would be when he walked through the door. He fought a short, sharp wave of nausea that rocked his gut and shoved the Wild Rose token deep into his pocket, for the moment its promise forgotten. He wiped his hands on his pants, suddenly aware that his palms had broken out in a sweat.

"Come on, Nichols," he told himself. "What's scaring you? She sent for you, didn't she?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

He took the first step, then another, gaining confidence and losing dread as he trotted up the front steps and knocked on the still-closed door. Unlike Wild Rose's, it seemed they were not yet open for the day. That assured him slightly. The madam here didn't seem intent on working her girls all hours.

A porter opened the door, still rubbing sleep from his eyes despite already being dressed in a sharp white uniform that contrasted vividly with his deep ebony skin. He looked at Jason with mild irritation.

"What d'ya want?" he demanded. "We're closed. Not open fo' another two hours."

"I'm sorry," Jason began, "but I was invited here by one of your girls. She's expecting me."

When the man made to close the door in his face, Jason shoved his boot against the jamb, earning himself a dirty glare. "_Not_ for business," he emphasized, adding hastily, "or pleasure. Which is the same here, I guess." He realized he was beginning to ramble from nervousness, so he kept his mouth shut and silently pled with a hopeful expression.

The porter hesitated, and looked over his shoulder at a figure coming down the stairs.

"Samuel, who is it?"

"Some gen'man who wants to see one of the ladies, ma'am."

The door opened wider to reveal a tall and statuesque woman of middling years, though obvious care had been taken to keep the advances of age at bay. The undertaking had been done with taste and restraint, Jason noted appreciatively. No garish powder and rouge to hide the fine wrinkles that had set up house at the corners of eye and mouth, but a subtle application of what smelled to be lotions and oils. He thought he detected the scent of rose water from her artfully arranged hair, a pile of auburn tresses that reminded him of burnished copper.

_If she's just come from bed,_ Jason thought, _then she slept standing up._

"I'm Madam Bess," the woman said. "What's this you're asking about? You have a special girl in mind? I can make sure you're the first one she sees today. They're all still asleep. I guarantee my customers well-rested sportin' girls."

After the soft, insinuating invitation to pleasure from the prostitute in the window next door, this woman's brisk manner was refreshing and disconcerting all at once. "No. I mean, yes. I want to see her, but as I was telling Samuel here, it's not for the usual business."

Madam Bess looked at Samuel and gestured for him to leave, which he did with a shrug of his shoulders. She opened the door fully and said, "Come in, Mr….?"

"Jason Nichols."

"Hmm….Nichols. I suspect that you're here about Emma?"

Jason couldn't mask his surprise. "Why yes!" He paused, hesitant about further revealing anything.

"She's a fine girl. One of the best I've ever had work for me. Come along."

She turned and Jason saw that her morning robe, a deep emerald green satin affair, was embroidered with hummingbirds of ruby and silver. It was cinched in tightly at the waist, but her figure revealed no sign of laces or stays. Her walk was slow yet full of grace, and he was not immune to the tantalizing sway of her hips with each step.

"We'll sit in the parlor for a spell while Emma sleeps a bit longer," she said, twirling to face him as she gestured up the stairs with a flick of her wrist and fingers. "She did well last night and earned this place a devoted customer, though I think she might have grabbed that brass ring of finding a swain for herself. He was quite taken with her as soon as he saw her."

Jason found himself speechless at the woman's casual chatter. If she knew who he had come to see, just from learning his name, surely she was aware that such talk would skewer him like a knife.

She led him into a richly furnished parlor off the darkened entry hall. In contrast, the parlor benefited from three large windows that faced the eastern sky, and the gold damask curtains shimmered brilliantly in the light. Jason was suddenly aware of a rug beneath his feet, thicker than most quilted bedcovers, and still clinging to a scent from the factory.

"You haven't been here long, have you?" he asked, taking in the fine wallpaper and paint on the walls, the furniture with nary a rip or worn patch.

"As I am now, only three weeks," was the reply. Madam Bess joined him in a sweeping gaze around the room. "I used to work upstairs several years ago, just like the other girls, but the old madam died of consumption more than a month ago. No family of any kind, and no one here capable of running it, so she left her business to an old veteran friend who had the best head on her shoulders." The satisfied smile that curved her generous mouth made it plain who that most able heir was.

"Emma's been here all that time?"

Madam Bess smiled slightly, almost to herself. "I think I should probably wake her. What I had hoped would be a nice, social chat isn't going to turn out very well, I'm afraid. Your mind is certainly not in this room. Here." She placed a hand over his and gently steered him towards a two-seat sofa. Her slender fingers were bedecked with several rings, but the metal wasn't cold at all. In fact, she was all sorts of comforting warmth; her smile, her coaxing hold, the way she leaned slightly against him as they walked to the other side of the room. Madam she might now be, but her deft touch as one of the second-floor girls was alive and well.

Had it been another day with his mind not so preoccupied by other matters, he would have likely let the older, experienced woman lead him to her private chamber and learned a thing or two himself.

The twinkle in her eyes indicated she knew where his thoughts lay, and those richly jeweled fingers traced a delicate web of confident entrapment along his palm, wrist and arm.

"I—I really can't," he said, shaking his head in slow, regretful refusal.

Madam Bess's hands traveled to lay flat against his chest, her eyes fixed languorously on his mouth. He noticed for the first time that she was a small woman, now that they were in intimate proximity to one another, and it would be of small effort to envelope her in his arms.

"Can't?" she whispered. "Or…won't?"

"Shouldn't." He broke away from her and sat down hurriedly on the two-seater. He found himself trying not to perch awkwardly on the stiff cushion seat. Not only was his groin intensely uncomfortable, but the horsehair, dyed a blood red, was slippery beneath his worn denim trousers. He braced his feet against the rug in an irrational fear that he would slide off onto the floor. Realizing he still wore his hat, he snatched it from his head and laid it across his lap.

"That's right gallant of you, Mr. Nichols," Madam Bess said, turning to the sideboard where several decanters stood among a sea of clean, upended crystal tumblers. "Would you care for something? Brandy? Whiskey? Milk?"

Jason shot her a confused look, and Madam Bess laughed. "Forgive me. I was only teasing. You're no stranger to our little establishments, I'm sure, but there was something about you just now, from this angle, that had me thinking of my little boy Nathan."

Her assured expression crumbled slightly, and vanished with such seamless ease that Jason began to doubt he had even seen it.

"Nathan would be your age now," she finished with a tight compression of her lips in a bid to master whatever emotions threatened beneath. "What a dear, sweet boy he was."

"I'll—I'll have that glass of whiskey," Jason said.

Madam Bess reached for the decanter, the large rings on her fingers clinking against the glass. She poured the amber liquid into a tumbler and replaced the stopper with a flourish that, from his position behind her, Jason thought went oddly close to her eyes. It didn't take him long to conclude that, from the glassy sheen of unshed tears, she had tried to wipe away a tear unseen.

"Here," she said, holding the whiskey out to him. "Enjoy this, and I will let Emma know you're here."

She turned gracefully and left the room, the short train of her satin robe sliding along the carpet behind her like that of a queen. She was one of sorts, Jason knew. Madams ruled their homes in a way that wives never could.

The minutes ticked by on the large wall clock, a fancy confection of deep mahogany and stained glass. His posture grew more tense, and twice he had to lay a hand on his knee to keep it from pedaling an invisible sewing machine. He drained the whiskey and laid uncertain eyes on the decanter, but eventually thought better of it. Bad enough that he would have whiskey on his breath so early in the morning, but he doubted Emma would mind. She had always been generous and trusting, and where had it gotten her?

He strained an ear towards the open door that lay near the stairs Madam Bess had ascended what seemed so long ago. He heard a strange scuffling, but Samuel soon appeared with a bucket and mop.

Jason leaped to his feet, the last shreds of patience completely unraveled. He was halfway to the door when he heard a scurry of footsteps along the hallway above. He raced to the foot of the stairs in time to see Emma round the corner, a slender arm held out to her side as her hand gripped the polished cornerpost.

Before he could say a word, she fluttered down the stairs in a ripple of sea-foam green chiffon and muslin. The last three stairs were forgotten as she leaped into his open arms with a cry that struck his ears as either laughter or weeping.

Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and he swung her down off the stairs, his embrace strong and solid. For what seemed like a long time, they stood there in the corner, their heads resting on each other's shoulders.

"Oh, Jason! Where to begin?" she finally whispered, her head tucked snugly against his neck.

He rubbed her back in comforting strokes and tilted her chin upwards. His eyes met hers, a deep brown that mirrored his own.

"It's alright, Em. Your brother's here."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

At first, it seemed there could be no words. Each one was uncertain what to say, how to begin. Every time Emma moved to speak, she could only look at her brother with pleading eyes, as if wanting him to divine everything within her mind and on her tongue without her having to utter a word.

For his part, Jason did not demand answers or explanations, though he reckoned there wasn't a piece of him that didn't burn to hear it from her own mouth. Instead, he silently led her back to the parlor, and they sat closely together on the horsehair couch. He clasped her hand in warm encouragement and looked at the girl he had last seen three years ago on her wedding day.

Despite what he knew she had gone through, she barely looked different. Her hair was still a deep gold, almost the shade of brass in the autumn sun. It hadn't dulled or become lank and tired as a result of her recent troubles. Were she wearing a wedding dress, Jason doubted he would be able tell the difference between his sister on the day she wed William Greenleaf and his sister of today. She was still the slender girl who had gamely tried to keep up with him and his friends throughout their childhood, and had done a fair job at it.

Emma took a deep breath and lifted her gaze from where she had been previously looking at their twined fingers. Jason saw that small lines of worry had begun to mark her brow, but only faintly. _Maybe it's only the morning light_, he thought, finding himself wanting to cling to the hope that she was utterly unchanged and that her sturdy and stubborn nature as a child was to credit for how she looked today.

"Jason," she began, "I know what you're thinking."

"No," he replied tenderly. "No, you don't. I don't know what brought you here, but I don't blame you for any of it. How could I?"

She smiled humorlessly. "Father doesn't know. Anything. He thinks William is still alive and that I'm—" Her voice wavered, then cracked. "He can't ever know, Jason. Promise me you'll never tell him."

Jason hesitated, then slowly nodded. "Sure, Em. He wouldn't take it well. I doubt many fathers would."

Emma sighed and rubbed at her nose indelicately, sniffing away unshed tears as she did so. "I never thought I'd think it, let alone say it, but I'm glad Mama's dead. She _wouldn't_understand."

"I'm not sure I do completely," Jason ventured. "There's still a heck of a lot you haven't told me." He once again retrieved her telegram from his vest pocket and unfolded it along its well-worn lines.

"It looks like you've been reading that pretty often, brother dear."

"Yeah. It's easier to take on the trail than a book."

Emma laughed. "And you were never one for books anyway."

"No, but you were."

"I still am, Jason," she reminded him, giving him a pointed look. "Less has changed than you might imagine."

Her expression was serious, and Jason sensed that what he had wanted to know these last two weeks, ever since he received the telegram, was imminent.

"What happened to your husband?" he prompted, handing her the telegram. "This is all you told me and it's been a nightmare, stumbling around in the dark up here." He tapped a finger against his temple. "I got here as fast as I could, but we had some jobs along the way, and I'm tied to another's movements, for the moment anyway."

Emma looked down at the telegram as if reading it for the first time, then gave a rueful laugh. "Is this the only one you ever received?"

"There were more?"

"Several. I've been chasing you through the wires all over the territory. Imagine my surprise when I sent a message to Virginia City and got a reply from Dad's old friend at the Union office that you'd given up the law to go bounty hunting!" She sobered. "He wasn't approving, if you care to know."

"I don't," Jason said. "Josh Randall came to town on a job and I decided before he left that if I'm going to get shot at, it might as well be for far more money than what a deputy's badge could earn me."

Emma's eyes brightened. "Then you will understand me completely once I've explained." She re-read the telegram and handed it back to him. "Here, as a souvenir." With a sigh, she slumped backwards and rested her head against the wall, her eyes fixed on the painted cherubs on the ceiling.

"William died in February," she began. "You knew that he was digging around here for silver, with a little success. I think that was in my last letter to you before he died. The strike wouldn't have filled a small washtub, but by then he was too far gone in chasing after it. I'd have just picked up and moved on, but he was sure there was more in the lines and he kept after it, week after week.

"I rarely saw him anymore. More than usual, that is. After awhile he was always up at the mine, and then he got his fool self killed handling dynamite when he should have been sleeping. He might as well have been drunk, for all the sense he had at the time. Maybe he was. Like I said, I'd become a mine widow long since."

"I was still in Virginia City when this was all happening," he said, unable to prevent a hint of accusation from tingeing his words. "Why didn't you at least let me know, if you didn't want Dad to?"

"At first it was because I didn't want to admit that I'd made a mistake marrying him," she replied. "In the three years we were married, he ran after one dream or another, leaving me in the lurch more than was proper or tolerable. Most of my letters to the whole family in that time were full of so many lies that I had to copy each one to make sure I kept them all straight. But it's all over now, isn't it?"

She rose and went over to the sideboard that held all the decanters of liquor. Her hands fidgeted near the brandy, but she quickly turned away and came to stand in front of him. "William died and I was left alone. There were no children to raise and I decided not to go back home. It had been my decision to marry and leave home, just as you left Virginia City and came back a lawman. You wouldn't have come crawling home had things gone badly, would you? Well, neither would I."

"And this is better?" he demanded.

"Oh, Jason," she said, sinking in front of him. She grasped his hands. "You've done all a brother can do to protect me when we were children, but it's not up to you to keep doing that. It was William's duty and he failed. I've managed quite well."

She patted his hand in comfort. "I fear your worry is mostly my fault. I sent so many wires, never getting replies because you had apparently moved on to the next town. I tried to catch you, and I even saw your name a couple times in the newspaper when this or that killer was caught, but you were damn hard to get hold of. Every wire got shorter and shorter until this one. Lordy, it's so short it sounds like a cry for help when it was only a plea to see you."

"You said I'd understand why you're doing this," he said. "Tell me."

"Money," she said simply. "Right after William died, I worked taking in mending and laundry for two months. I used to look down on those women who did laundry and yet whored themselves on the side. Now I know why they did both. There is simply no way to live on what you earn washing a man's shirts and darning socks. Without clothes, they'd all be naked, but you'd never know it was important from what they choose to give you in exchange. This is more profitable, even if Madam Bess does take most of it. I still earn more in a week than what I scraped together during those two months of grinding my fingers down on a washboard."

Jason's last hope of persuading her to leave fled. He had uttered the same sentiment to Josh when they split the bounty money for Clell Fannon. His half had been twenty-five hundred dollars, more than his deputy's badge could earn him in three years. That day, with the feel of so many greenbacks in his hand, he decided that if he was going to get shot at, he might as well make it worth it.

Emma rose and slid onto the couch next to him. "You _do_understand, don't you? I can see it in your face. You were never able to keep anything hidden from me, Jason. What you're thinking is as plain as if you said it."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I understand."

"What does a wife earn?" she went on. "If she's married to a no-account, like I was, she lies on her back and earns nothing—"

"Emma!" he said, shocked at hearing such bluntness coming from her mouth.

"_Nothing_," she said again. "She has nothing but drudgery for the rest of her life, slaving for a man who doesn't care. But now, I do what was my wifely duty, get paid for it, and have people like Samuel and maids like Chloe and Sarah do the cleaning and washing."

"That may be," Jason plunged ahead, his outraged sense of what he felt his sister should talk about getting the best of him, "but I'm earning far more than you. I can take care of you. I _want_to."

"But I don't," she replied. "You're in a far more dangerous business than I. You'll have a wife one day. Some woman is going to love you enough so that the real chance of you gettin' killed won't matter a whit to her. It's her that your money should be saved for. I'm only twenty-three and have many years left to me. You'll see, and you won't want me burdening you until I find myself another husband. Believe me, I will not be so impulsive next time."

He bent over, resting his elbows on his knees, and ran a flustered hand through his hair.

"Emma, you're talking selfless nonsense," he persisted, lowering his tone into a semblance of restraint. He kept his eyes riveted on the floor to help him focus. "You expect me to go off and leave you, earn hundreds or thousands in a day, and all to save it up for a woman who doesn't exist yet?"

"That's exactly what I'm expecting you to do," she said, every word just as measured and calm. "I could not be more rational about this. Do what William failed to do for his own wife. I would be in a far better position today if he had known the value of a saved dollar instead of wasting it on digging through dirt and rock. He was blessed with a job in Denver that paid very well, but he took it all and let it pour through his fingers." Her face grew pinched in regret. "Thing is, he thought he was doing it to provide for me. All he needed was one lucky strike, but it never lasted."

"This won't last either."

"No. No, it won't," she agreed, "but at least I am no longer a captive bystander to someone else's decisions. I've earned plenty already, but if you feel compelled to provide for me in a small way, it would be unsisterly of me to refuse." She reached over to tousle his hair playfully, and idly twirled a lock of hair around her finger like she would to a doll.

"Emma?"

Madam Bess appeared in the doorway. She had changed from her bright satin robe into a dress of equal brilliant color, looking like a bird of paradise next to Emma's demure wren. For that, Jason was grateful. It had been high on his list of fears when he had entered the brothel that he would find his sister painted and swathed in feathers and beads like a drunken peacock.

"Your gentleman from last night is here again," she told Emma, and Jason felt his stomach lurch at the eagerness in the madam's tone. "He would like to see you again, if you're willing this early. I think you might have already caught yourself a benefactor, Sweetheart."

Jason swallowed the rising bile in his throat, a nausea that threatened to overwhelm him completely when he saw his sister's face alight with genuine surprise and pleasure. It had been so easy to say the words "I understand", but he hadn't planned or desired to be present to see his sister sold for an hour of sport. Just as he felt his hand itching to grab Emma about the wrist and haul her from the room and the building, he turned his focus to fidgeting with his hat, spinning it around in his hands.

"I'll—I'll go now, Emma," he managed, casting Madam Bess a condemning glare. She returned the gaze coolly, yet there was a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. Or so he hoped. She truly hadn't struck him as a soulless flesh merchant. He wanted to believe that she held some affection for her girls since she had been in the same position herself only recently.

Emma gave him a quick kiss. "Everything is fine," she whispered. Her eyes met his, as rock steady as any hardened criminal, and Jason didn't think his heart ever felt so heavy. He was not only seeing his sister on a path he had never imagined her walking, he was leaving her to tread it alone.

"I hope I won't regret walking out that door, Em, and I hope you never do either."

"If I do, I promise to tell you," she said with an encouraging smile. "I know you'll always be there for me when I need you. You're a dunderhead at times, but I love you anyway."

Jason made to leave the room, but stopped and turned to Emma. "At least tell me something about this man," he said. "I don't think I'm asking too much."

Madam Bess lowered her voice. "A tragic story. His bride-to-be was horribly killed on her journey here. They still haven't hanged the bastard who did it."

Jason straightened in interest, but didn't have time to respond because the man in question appeared in the doorway behind Madam Bess.

"Hello," the man said smoothly, bowing his head first to Madam Bess and then to Emma. He shot Jason a quizzical look, his eyes then darting to Emma again. "I trust I am not…intruding?"

The question and the unspoken one in the lilt of his voice made Emma immediately flush. "No, not at all! This is my brother."

"In that case," the visitor said, holding out his hand. "Gilbert Tunstall."


End file.
